


cockroach king

by Lethalin (Aussems)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Gen, Humor, M/M, Slow Build, will add other characters as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-09 23:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10424613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aussems/pseuds/Lethalin
Summary: Viktor's on a mission. Well, a few missions, really. He's trying to protect Mila while she's out playing pretend, trying to keep Yuri from getting himself murdered by the Leroy family - and trying really, really hard to figure out exactly who Katsuki Yuuri really is.





	1. the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic in a really, really long time. I'm not very creative or talented with writing; I'm more or less using this as a way to relax. I hope everyone enjoys this anyway.  
> Assassin AU's really are the best.

“Are you even listening to a single word that comes out of my mouth?”

Currently, Viktor was getting a stern talking-to in the back of a _discrete_ Mercedes that was casually cruising down 4th Ave, as you please. There were two nameless – _at least in Viktor’s opinion_ – body guards sitting up front; the one Viktor was sitting behind had his car seat pushed all the way up – _as per Viktor’s very polite request_ – to give Viktor a more-than-comfortable space to stretch his long legs.

Viktor was sure he was testing Yakov’s patience as he ignored his speech about being _discrete_ , but the way the sunlight played against his swollen and bloody knuckles was five times more fascinating than anything Yakov could think to say aloud – at least in _Viktor’s opinion_ , and his opinion was hardly ever _wrong,_ really.

“Vitya, please, listen to me. The police won’t always turn a blind eye to our business _negotiations_ , and your last job was incredibly,” Yakov paused for a moment, trying to think of the best word, but finished lamely: “Messy.”

Viktor briefly looked up from his bruised knuckles before replying. “Last night was hardly my fault, Uncle,” he spoke slowly. The mid-afternoon sun truly did bring out the beauty of Viktor’s wounds, though he had always found cuts and bruises pretty, in a way. “Yura cannot seem to help himself whenever that French-Canadian is involved in anything; he loses his mind-”

 “Then _teach_ him to control his temper,” Yakov barked, cutting the younger man off. “We cannot allow his poor temper management to interfere with how we conduct meetings. He’s a child with a gun at this point, and we cannot allow him to run rampant like this anymore,” he finished, breathing heavy and jaw clenched. Viktor smiled.

“Understood, Uncle,” he clapped suddenly and a wide, toothy smile suddenly split his face in two, “and now, we get coffee! You, Driver-Man, please take us to that new shop near that one University somewhere around here! Please.”

\--------

In addition to his beautifully bruised knuckles, Viktor was sporting an equally as eye-catching black eye behind his Ray Bans. It was only slightly visible around the perimeter of the glasses, but the sickly yellow around the black and blue was strikingly obvious against his pale skin, even in the dim lights of the coffee shop. Viktor could tell; the barista kept throwing him weird looks. He pretended not to notice, which was probably for the best.

“Hello,” Viktor gave the barista a wide, unnerving smile. “I was wondering if you made a certain type of coffee. The ones made in the, ah,” he hummed, “I think Americans know them as Ibriks?” Viktor knew he was smiling _too_ wide for _a little_ too long, but he never knew how normal social etiquettes worked anyway; If it were possible, he probably would have smiled even wider.

“Right, yeah, uh,” the barista continued to stare at him oddly as he tapped on the tablet in front of him. “Turkish coffee. We’ll bring it to you.”

He spun the tablet around to face Viktor and instructed him on how to pay for his order. After finishing and thanking the barista in both Russian and English, – excitedly exclaiming “Wonderful!” when the barista offering a weak “No problem” in reply – Viktor quickly spun around to sit with Yakov.

And promptly power-walked into the person standing behind him.

Viktor cringed as his body slammed into something small and boney. He could practically hear Yakov sighing from across the room. Viktor began to apologize before he recognized the blond mop on the person’s tiny head, “oh! Yura! No wonder I slammed into you. I couldn’t see you because of how short you are.”

Yuri Plisetsky squinted up at Viktor, oddly quiet until he swiftly struck the older man in the stomach with a quick gut punch. Viktor wheezed at the force of his fist, but continued smiling down at the younger male. “Stupid old fuck,” Yuri muttered, walking towards the small table Yakov claimed in the corner of the café.

“I’m glad you could join us, Yura, even though your stunts will most likely get us thrown into jail before the year is done,” Viktor heard Yakov greet Yuri as he followed the younger male to the dimly lit table. The old Russian gestures for both younger men to sit, “I have a task for Yura, but I find myself lacking essential trust, especially after last night,” the old man threw Yuri a look and the boy kissed his teeth in reply. “Mila needs protection. She’s doing one of those things she does, trying to be a normal girl, giving me heart attacks left and right. I’m too old for this.”

“She’s been skating, right? Doing local competitions. Why do you need anyone to protect the hag?” Yuri complained, “She is perfectly capable of protecting herself.”

“She may be perfectly capable,” Yakov pointed out, “But it’s unsafe for her to be traipsing about Detroit with no security. She is the daughter of someone involved in our _business_ and in this _business,_ we have enemies.”

Viktor sat up straight, wiggling excitedly at Yakov’s words, “Ooh,” A barista appeared with their coffee and disappeared quickly after setting the small cups and coffee pot on the table. “Sounds like Uncle is being extra careful after that whole incident with Viggo and his son.” He grinned and tossed a sugar cube into his mouth before pouring himself a cup of coffee, sipping it gingerly.

“Exactly,” Yakov snapped. “His son goes and does something stupid and gets us into a whole mess of trouble, and now one of our businesses is up in flames along with a large amount of vital…. Information. We need to be as cautious as possible from this point on, which is why I beg you…. Yura, please control your temper.”

Yuri scoffed, “There is nothing I could ever do to anger Leroy to the point of destruction like that man. I can manage my temper just fine, Uncle, that man is just fucking infuriating. I’ll kill him one day with my bare hands, I swear to God.”

Viktor’s lips pursed, trying to fight off a smile. “The one who killed Viggo sure has style and skill, though. I heard he used his car as some kind of valiant steed when he stole it from the warehouse a few days ago. That story is almost as good as the penc-”

Yakov silenced Viktor with a pointed look as he reached to fill his own cup. “We finish this coffee, and you two leave with Mila at eight tonight.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Viktor and Yuri replied in unison. The small group sat in silence, enveloped in the darkness of the small corner of the coffee shop and only the quiet goings-on of the other customers filling the silence between them.

\---

Uncharacteristically, Yuri knocked on Viktor’s door before he slammed it open.

“Hello, Yura,” Viktor’s muffled voice said distractedly, his body halfway under his bed. Earlier, while packing his clothes, his silencer for the Sig Sauer he used while on protection duty for the more important family members of the business had fallen behind his bed. At least, that’s what he thought.

Where was his silencer? Viktor had no clue and started getting a little frustrated. He crawled backwards and straightened his now dusty white button down, looking behind and up at the younger Russian to find him holding up his silencer.

“You left this in the car last night,” Yuri explained. “No, that’s a lie, I stole it.”

“Oh,” Viktor said lamely, snatching the silencer from the younger man’s hands. “Don’t do that.”

Yuri shrugged, neither a promise nor an apology, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Your black eye looks like shit; so do your hands. And you should know better than even Uncle that Leroy fucking deserved getting his ass beat, Viktor. I don’t trust him,” Yuri frowned down at the older Russian. “Why do you continue to take Uncle’s side with this shit?”

Viktor stared quietly at the floor for a few beats before looking up at the blond, so young and _small_ but so eager to hurt others without a second thought. Viktor shrugged, his motions jerky. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he struggled to voice his thoughts and emotions.

Feeling stunted, Viktor shrugged once again, awkward and jagged. “People in this line of work are unpredictable at best, Yura. You never know when someone will come after you, or a loved one.”

Yuri stared down at Viktor, lines forming already in between his brows and on his forehead.

“Yeah, I guess,” is all Yuri replied before walking out of Viktor’s room and slamming the door closed.


	2. a dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we establish Viktor's relationship with Mila and meet some of her fellow skaters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lot harder than I remember lol  
> Anyway, the title of this fanfic comes from the song "Cockroach King" by Haken.

 “Yura! Look at how cute you look in your little suit!” Mila exclaimed as soon as she spotted Yuri and Viktor walking through the entrance of the ice rink.

 “Oh my god,” Yuri groaned lowly, face scrunching in annoyance. “Please end me. I know you have a gun somewhere on you,” he said quietly to Viktor.

 “Be nice! Mila is great,” Viktor spoke between his teeth, smiling brightly at Mila, “brat.”

 Yuri scoffed and turned to sit on the bleachers to the side of the rink, completely ignoring both Mila and Viktor.

 “What’s wrong with Yura?” Mila asked as he walked up to greet her. “He seems moodier than usual.”

 Viktor put his hands up in an exaggerated shrug. “Teenagers,” he tried to explain. “Uh, hormones? It’s Yura! He’s always ‘moodier than usual’.”

 Mila laughed and put her elbows onto the wall of the ice rink. “Does it have anything to do with the Leroy incident the other day? Are you wearing makeup? I heard you, in particular, did not fair so well in the aftermath of Yuri’s screaming session.”

 “Oh, is it that noticeable?” Viktor was disappointed. He spent a _very_ long time in the bathroom that morning trying to make the concealer around his eye look at least somewhat natural. “I had the audacity to step in front of Yura as he was giving Leroy the business. Leroy’s men thought I was being funny, I guess, I don’t know. Anyway,” Viktor quickly changed the subject loudly as two other skaters skated past. “How is figure skating? Will Mila Babicheva become a household name to skating fans everywhere?”

 Mila giggled at Viktor’s awkward attempt at being normal and decided to play along. “Mila Babicheva will forever be known as the princess of ice skating, Mr, Nikiforov. Look at what I learned to do yesterday,” she looked around to make sure no one was close before skating backwards. She suddenly lifted her leg and popped off the ice, twirling once before landing awkwardly. “Tada!”

 Viktor clapped as she struck a pose, “Bravo! Truly you are an ice princess in the making,” he teased.

 “Enough of this ice skating nonsense for today,” Mila exclaimed, skating back to the edge of the ice rink near Viktor. “I was finally invited to having a meal with the other skaters in the club and I demand for you and Yura to come with me in case it gets awkward and no one likes me,” she joked, winking at the smiling Russian. Viktor gasped.

 “Someone not liking _the_ Mila Babicheva? I grant them a slow, painful death for their audacity,” he clutched at his breast dramatically, making Mila giggle once again. Grinning, Viktor turned to call out to Yuri, but instead made eye contact with a curious-looking skater slowing gliding behind Mila. Viktor’s smile faltered for a moment as he studied the blue frames of the man’s glasses and the messy short brown mop of hair over them.

 It was almost like the moment passed in slow motion. The man looked unnerved for a quick second before his expression changed to a muted surprised. Then, he suddenly offered Viktor a small smile – a quirk of the corner of his lips and an aborted movement of his hand.

 Viktor was left feeling almost as if the axis of his internal world was violently tilted the opposite direction.

 The moment lasting only the shortest of seconds, he continued to turn as though nothing happened. “Yura,” he called out. “Stop moping; grab Mila’s bags and follow us to the car.”

\---

 Viktor had known Mila since she was a child. Surely, he was simply a child himself when he had met the younger woman, but she was still ten years younger than him. He had a soft spot for her; he saw her as the younger sister he had always wanted. Therefore, when he noticed that Mila was still fairly tall after taking off his skates, he could help but gasp and hug her tightly.

 “I forgot how tall you were,” he explained later, in the car. “You’re truly no longer a child. You even have boobs now.”

 “Vitya, I’m twenty-one,” she laughed at him. “And stop looking at my boobs, that’s gross.”

 “ _That’s_ something we can agree on,” Yuri muttered from the drivers seat, turning the key in the ignition to turn off the car engine. As he exited the vehicle, Mila jumped out the car and grasped his sides, lifting Yuri into the air.

 “Yuri! I forgot how bad your sense of humor was,” she said, somewhat passive-aggressively.

 “Put me down! I’m not a child anymore,” Yuri snapped.

 “Stop acting like one then,” she replied cheerfully, settling Yuri back on the ground. “You may be taller and more muscular now, Yura, but you still have the same bad attitude you had when you were fifteen.”

 Yuri kissed his teeth and Viktor clapped loudly. “Now that we’ve garnered attention from basically everyone in the parking lot, lets act like a normal family and walk into the restaurant without any show of weirdly superhuman strength and bad attitudes,” he said cheerfully, walking backwards toward the restaurant. “Thank you.”

 “Sorry, Vitya,” Mila apologized, jogging over to Viktor and gingerly grasping onto his elbow as they entered the dimly lit restaurant and walked toward the large booth table where the other skating club members were already sitting. Mila smiled brightly at them, sliding into the booth after Viktor and before Yuri.

 “Mila, I’m glad you could make it,” one of the skaters spoke cheerfully. “Are these your brothers?”

 Mila shook her head. “No, these are my cousins, Viktor and Yuri. They came to visit for a while,” she explained. “This is Viktor, and Yuri. Vitya, Yura, this is Phichit Chulanont. He goes to the University close by.” Viktor waved to the young man in greeting as Mila continued, pointing everyone out. Most of the other people at the table were looking down at their phones or studying the menus in front of them. “Next to him is Yuuri Katsuki, Leo de la Iglesia, and Guang-Hong Ji,” she paused, confused. “Where is everyone else?”

 Leo spoke up, saying, “Midterms are coming up. Everyone else decided to just go home.”

 Mila hummed, “Ah, okay.”

 Viktor quickly glanced at the boy next to Phichit Chulanont _– Yuuri Katsuki_ , Viktor told himself – and noticed he was looking down at his lap blankly. Trying to ignore the unease in the back of his head, he looked down at the menu that was placed in front of him.

 “So, Mila, are you a student as well?” Someone suddenly asked. Viktor looked up and saw that Yuuri Katsuki was looking at Mila with a curious expression. Looking back down at the menu blankly, not really seeing it, Viktor listened closely for Mila’s reply.

 “Um, I actually go to school part time, online,” she replied, flipping through her own menu quickly, eyes scanning each choice but not really understanding it. She suddenly dropped the menu and looked up, staring straight back at the bespectacled man. “And you, Yuuri?”

 Yuuri smiled. “I graduated a few years ago. I enjoyed Chicago too much to move back home,” he replied. “Now I do freelance and teach kids how to skate on the side.”

 “What kind of freelance?” Viktor suddenly asked, looking up at Yuuri. The other man paused momentarily, looking between Viktor and Mila.

 Suddenly, Phichit moaned. “Please do _not_ get him started, it’s seriously _so boring,_ trust me,” he draped himself over his part of the table dramatically. “I live with him and once you get him started, he just won’t stop, seriously,” he ensured Viktor, giving him an easy smile. “What do you do, Viktor?”

 Viktor smiled at the younger man, leaning his elbows on the table and flagging down a server with a two-fingered wave. “I consult for my uncle’s company. It is also boring stuff, trust me,” he winked. With perfect timing, the server popped up at the front of their table, ending the conversation almost as soon as it started.

 After ordering his food, Viktor sent a quick look Yuri’s way, Yuri giving him a minute nod, glancing down at his lap where his phone laid. At least Viktor wasn’t the only one that felt weird about that entire conversation. Viktor glanced at his side to Mila, giving her a bright smile and a side hug when she gave him a questioning look. “Lets have fun tonight,” he said in Russian, easing the tension in her shoulders.

 “With you, Cousin,” she replied in English, winking, “every night is fun.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope no-one minds the not-so-subtle references to my man John Wick.  
> If there are any blatant grammar errors, let me know, but I'm not exactly looking for constructive criticism (as stupid as that sounds).


End file.
